Dear Me,

Get your head in the fucking game!

Hugs and Kisses,

Me

How exactly do you translate the words “search room” into Filipino?

By “search room” I mean the room where you conduct body searches.  I am afraid I cannot continue explaining as this would only lead to more confusion and sexual mistranslation.  Suffice it to say that the documents I’m translating have to do with Customs and the people they arrest.

I was sorely tempted to write “silid kapkapan” but logic prevailed and I went with the English words.  Technically I’m supposed to translate from Traditional Chinese to Filipino, but when words (or the translator’s brain) fails it’s pretty much necessary to just go with the English version.  After all, English is this country’s national language, too, right?

It’s a lame excuse, but if the people paying me don’t complain I don’t think I’ll be losing sleep over it.

I have this theory that watching Chinese/Taiwanese/HK telenovelas brings me more translation projects.  I can’t explain it really, but around the time I started watching It Started with a Kiss, I clinched by most lucrative translation job.  Same thing happened when I watched They Kiss Again.  Now I’m watching that tearjerker of a soap, Family, and I got this job.

Coincidence?

I don’t think so.  Luck, maybe, or some sort of cosmic alignment.

Either way it’s fine by me.

The only problem is whether or not I can handle this lifestyle.  I’ve been having episodes of random vertigo-ish dizziness these past few days.  Someone told me it might be irreversible brain damage, but that’s impossible.  My brain is damaged enough as it is; it can’t get any worse than that.

I just hope to survive this very, very busy weekend.

So yes, I’ve been played for a fool again.

Victory has been short-lived.

But I’ll still go through with it, since I am pretty much addicted to money.

Before you start letting those thoughts run wild, let me just say that I’m in a middle of a negotiation gone awry.

The initial rate discussed has been hacked and slashed to something barely acceptable.  Still I’m going through with it, because this is still money we’re talking about.  And even though I won’t be staring at 100,000 bucks any time soon (which would’ve been the going rate if we pushed through with the original agreement), I’m still going through with this new sideline of mine.

I need the dough, obviously, and it would be crazy to say no.

Let’s see where this goes.

I’m not very productive these days.

I’m always late for work, I can’t wake up to my alarm clock and I just want to stay home the entire day. Or week. Or month, maybe.

It’s not that I don’t want to work. Okay, so it’s not exactly like I love going to work, but at the very least it’s not something I dread, like going to the dentist or getting my driver’s license renewed. I want to work. I want to be there on time and be a useful employee. So much for good intentions, though. I often get to the office by as much as an hour or more late.

Yes, I’m a horrible employee.

I can’t even force myself to write my freelance projects. It’s like there’s no strength left in me.

Maybe it’s because I was sick for almost a month past, what with the bout with ulcer and whatnot. Up to this day I can’t finish a MacDonald’s chicken burger on my own, and that sucks big time.

Or maybe I’m just not being me. Or tired of being me.

What I’ve realized lately is that I need more time to play Nogs, my beautiful guitar. I just cleaned him with Pledge (partly because the dust is making my allergies act up) and he’s now shining like brand new. I just think I need more time to be a bum.

I miss waking up at ten and lounging around the house in clothes I had slept in the night before.

I know it sounds stupid, but there are days when I just want to run off somewhere with Nogs and do something unexpected. I’m the most unimaginative person ever; people know I hate disruptions to my schedule and pattern.

Classic Type A + obsessive-compulsive personality + god syndrome = ME.

There’s no explanation for this, but today I just want to take the first flight to Easter Island and hide. I don’t know why. Maybe part of me is sick of this. Sick of being a responsible person.

It’s only when I play the guitar that I get a feeling of relaxation and freedom. I suck horribly, but when my fingers touch the strings, I just feel like there’s nothing left to worry about but getting to the next chord in time without losing the strum pattern. Everything else just vanishes into thin air.

I’m not making sense, but I don’t really care.

All I want to do is hole up in some foreign country, forget me and everything else, then play my guitar.

Since I make no sense, I’ll just leave you with this clip of Pepe Smith going nuts. Pardon the poor quality; all I had was my phone

Think of that Rivermaya song, “Alab ng Puso”, then go back to the title of this post.

That’s exactly how I feel.

There will be no references to Pacquiao and his win here. I don’t see myself as someone who knocked out an enemy. In fact, I feel a bit bad because I know the translated document I submitted isn’t as good as my previous ones.

After several bouts with a couple of illnesses and a bum tooth, I finally got it done.

I’m glad, of course, because this means I’m free to do stuff again.

Translation takes a lot out of me. I’m not exactly the best, but I somehow landed this gig and there’s no way anyone can try to steal this from me. It pays more than double the amount I earn from other writing gigs, so no, I’m not giving up.

I’ve killed thousands of brain cells in the process, but I keep at it.

Money’s a very good motivator.

And now, for some decent sleep.

Back in college, we used to hang out a lot at this place called Coffee Indulgence, which was sort of USTe’s answer to Starbucks. But it wasn’t exactly Starbucks material; it had no air conditioning, had wooden chairs (or tree stumps) and cheap drinks.

Anyway.

One time, there was this one group over in the corner that just started singing for no reason. Sounds like that retard LA Lopez, I said quite loudly, not realizing that it was LA Lopez, the retard.

Which isn’t the point of this post. I just sort of remembered Mr. Lopez because he used to endorse iodized salt as the cure for Pinoy stupidity. So then. What exactly am I trying to say?

Commuting from my house to Makati each day gives me the rare opportunity to meet the worst of people. Not the best, unfortunately. I have yet to come across a hot guy on the MRT or the jeepney. What’s even more horrifying, though, is the realization that a lot of these people do need iodized salt. Not that it did a lot for LA Lopez, but what the hell. There still might be something to it.

Here’s my list of iodized salt-deprived people. The government might want to do something about them, for the good of humanity.

1. Pedestrians who cross the street the moment the stoplight turns green then shriek like little girls when vehicles hurtle towards them
2. People who ask, “what are you doing” while watching you brush your teeth/tie your shoelaces/some mundane act
3. People who make an extremely long line behind just one turnstile (in the MRT station), leaving other perfectly okay turnstiles idle (they probably don’t even realize that the other turnstiles are working; they just stand behind other people like the idiots that they are)
4. The bastard who translated Kim Chiu’s “Crazy Love” into Chinese and made her record it
5. Pinoy Dream Academy’s Laarni
6. People who vigorously stop an elevator’s doors from closing, ignore the flashing “UP” button and ask, “down?”
7. Rallyists who have no idea what they’re rallying about. They’re just there to chant slogans and clog traffic
8. People who idolize Willie Revillame
9. Gretchen Barretto (see this for proof)
10. People who think high-waist pants are fashionable. Repeat after me: Mommy pants will never ever ever be hot. Ever. It can’t even cover up your bulging puson, darling.

Yes, I am.

I love Blair, particularly, because of her pretty clothes and her headbands. I love how she’s bitchy and sort of clueless at the same time.

I love Serena, too, because her fashion style I can sort of relate to. I have those grungy tunic shirts and skinny jeans and boots. I love her.

I’ll go worship them now.

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Last week, I posted something about wanting to work abroad. I’m not looking for a job Nino, just in case you decide to come reading around again. I just feel like there’s nothing left here for me. I’m dejected, depressed and just sickened by all the corruption in this country. I need change.

That said, I won’t be leaving any time soon. I still have a year and a half to go to complete my masters, and I actually have a decent job here. I like this country. I just need a little time to recuperate.

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Anyone willing to buy me a Wii? I’ll love you forever, I swear.